


our skin gets thicker

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: Actor RPF, Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Bromance, Frottage, M/M, Tequila
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:18:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Armie offers to be Andrew's Replacement Jesse, and there's tequila, and also Josh passing out on the floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our skin gets thicker

Andrew likes Boston because it’s something new, something out of his ordinary, and shooting on location has an intrinsically different feel than shooting on some lot in Los Angeles. He likes the sequestered feeling that comes with being on location, being completely apart from everything that’s his actual life, and instead treating this like it is his actual life, late autumn in New England and being irresponsible college kids puking in the bare bushes.

It’s easy to forget that the snow is fake, and that they’re not actually allowed at Harvard (except for the night the crew goes all guerrilla, filming Jesse running in flip-flops). Andrew doesn’t have to be there for that one. It’s not like Jesse doesn’t tell him about it later that same night, laughing breathless and fast and slightly manic at three in the morning, still completely wired, unable to sit down.

Andrew’s exhausted after a day of doing his own second unit shooting. Gently, he takes Jesse by the wrists, makes him sit down on the sofa, tucks his own earbuds into Jesse’s ears, and turns on _Funeral_ until Jesse passes out, snoring.

He texts Armie, _why did I decide to live with Jesse again?_ and can practically hear Armie laughing at him in the _shut up, you love his face_ response. Armie’s bunking with Josh and their apartment is probably respectable in ways that Andrew and Jesse’s isn’t - as in, not covered in dirty laundry and dishes and a thousand post-its that Jesse writes to himself about Mark and sticks all over every available surface.

Andrew glances at Jesse asleep and scoffs a laugh, then retrieves his iPod to charge while he gets his own few hours of sleep. He’ll probably miss Jesse’s neuroses for a few weeks once they’re done, but once he’s back in LA, back in his life, he more than likely won’t remember most of these weird little details. It’ll be crowded out of his mind by all the new things that will come with whatever he does next.

That reminds him he needs to call his agent sometime tomorrow. He grabs the nearest sticky note, glancing at what Jesse had written on it in tiny block letters - _does it ever cross your mind, the fact that you take and take and take?_ \- and writes himself a message in giant letters on the bottom. He thinks about sticking it to Jesse’s forehead, but refrains.

His phone beeps and the screen flashes Armie’s name. _dont stay up all night making sure jesse’s not staying up all night_ , this one reads.

 _he’s out cold,_ Andrew writes back, slumping down in the chair across from the television. He doesn’t quite want to go to bed yet, but there’s really nothing interesting about watching Jesse sleep. Even if he has fallen asleep while sitting upright. Andrew contemplates (and then decides against) taking pictures and posting them on the internet. Jesse will never speak to him again if he does.

Besides, he’s not sure where on the internet he’d post such pictures. Facebook? There’s an ironic thought. He doesn’t even remember his password anyway. Or Jesse’s, even though Jesse had told it to him during rehearsals.

Everyone always says while they’re making a movie that they’ll stay friends, they’ll keep in touch, like a class photobook full of _have a great summer, stay sweet_ in cursive with scribbled names underneath. Andrew hasn’t done a ton of projects, but he can count on one hand the people he’s stayed in contact with. It’s not that everyone has less than stellar intentions, but real life and new work just get in the way.

He assumes it’ll happen with Jesse, and with Joe and Armie and Josh, no matter what they say. He glances up at the production calendar taped to the wall. At least they’ll still see each other a lot next year, with press and premieres and all the things that go along with the movie being done.

Right now, while they’re in the middle of it, the idea of being away from them feels so strange.

On the sofa, Jesse makes a weird half-snoring, half-coughing noise, and falls over sideways. But he doesn’t wake up. He just tucks his hands under his head. Andrew supposes he could shove the pillow that’s mere inches away underneath Jesse’s face for him, but Jesse seems okay. And if he wakes up, he might stay up.

 _what are you guys doing this weekend?_ he sends to Armie.

 _idk yet, you?_

They’ve got the weekend off, by some random stroke of luck. Andrew’s not sure if it’s good luck or bad luck, really. Two days off is sometimes enough to lose track of the character, to get far enough out of the mindset that it takes another few days to get back into it. He doesn’t think he’s worried about Eduardo, though. Jesse’s going home to New York, to his apartment and his girlfriend and his cats. His non-movie life. Andrew’s own apartment and girlfriend are on the other side of the country, so he’s staying in Boston.

 _don’t know. sitting alone in the dark, maybe._

 _buck up, little camper. you can live without him for 48 hours... right?_

He laughs, not only because it’s funny, but because he and Jesse are not actually as co-dependent as they have conned people into thinking. _six pm on Fri until one am on Mon is 55 hrs_

Armie’s reply takes only a few seconds. _pathetic. come out with us tomorrow night, we’ll get fucked up and I’ll be your replacement eisenberg, ok?_

Andrew grins down at the tiny screen. Armie is like, twice the size of Jesse, and about half as weird. _cool. but will you cuddle, too?_

 _tmi, dude. but okay._

He throws a blanket over Jesse’s now-still form, sets both of their alarms for the morning, and then goes to get some sleep himself.

*

“Dude, dude, that was _all_ the tequila,” Armie is laughing, shaking with it, and now Andrew is vibrating too, because Armie’s got his arm wrapped all the way around Andrew’s waist as they half-walk, half-stumble across the bar towards the exit.

“I like tequila!” Josh insists, waving his arms. He’s got a wedge of lime still in one hand. “I like it,” he repeats, quieter this time, and Andrew giggles, because Josh drunk has got to be the funniest thing he’s ever seen. He’s all flailing limbs and loud, proclamation-y stories about shenanigans at Dartmouth, all while Armie says, “Dude, but you were an _underwear model_ ,” and Josh replies with, “Shut up, Gossip Girl,” and calls another round of shots.

“I need to hang out with you guys more,” Andrew tries to say, but it comes out more just, “..you guys more, yeah, more,” and then he collapses laughing onto Armie’s shoulder as the room tilts a little.

Armie’s grip tightens slightly and Andrew hears him say, “Someone has possibly had too much of the tequila.”

“Home, Jeeves!” Josh cries, and flings the lime away, somewhere. They shuffle in a knot out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. Andrew sucks in a lungful of the cold night air and feels instantly a bit more sober.

“British people don’t actually say that,” he tells Josh.

“Bullshit.” Josh starts to try and flag down a cab. “Besides, aren’t you only half-British?”

“But we don’t say _Jeeves_ ,” Andrew giggles, because no one does, except on television. “Except on the telly!”

“The telly!” Armie and Josh yell simultaneously, and if he weren’t drunk as fuck, Andrew would totally give them shit about how they’re making fun of him, but his brain just isn’t working that fast after all the tequila.

Armie launches into a complete mockery of a BBC news broadcast as a taxi glides to a stop in front of them, and continues rambling on in a terrible accent right in Andrew’s ear as they all pile in and Josh gives the address for his and Armie’s building.

Andrew informs him, “Your accent is bloody awful.”

“Thank you.” Armie’s grin is huge and bright. Andrew thinks it’s possible that the streetlights actually reflect off his teeth. “So, what’s the verdict? Am I a sufficient Eisenberg replacement?”

“I am unable to judge that,” Andrew replies, in the most serious voice he can, even as he leans against Armie (much as he would Jesse, were this situation ever to occur with Jesse). On Armie’s other side, Josh is breathing on the window and then drawing designs in the condensation.

“Why not?”

“Because Jesse would never do as many tequila shots as you have done tonight.”

Josh quits huffing on the glass. “Dude, if Jesse ever did that much tequila, he’d _die_.”

He sounds exactly like Armie as he says it, and Andrew blinks. “Sometimes you guys creep me out when you do that.”

“Do what?” they ask simultaneously.

“That - fuck, stop doing it just to freak me out!”

They’re both still laughing when the car pulls up at their stop. Armie lets go of Andrew to pay, and then they all manage to get out of the taxi without tripping or falling. “Wait, why am I not going to my own place?” Andrew asks as he’s pulled into the elevator.

“Because there’s hard liquor here, and I’m sure only beer and antidepressants at yours,” Josh says, and Armie adds, “And we are here, and you would be alone at yours. Alone and lonely. And moping. Alone.”

“You just said alone like five times.”

“Yes.”

Andrew sways a little, bumping into the wall of the elevator. Then it dings, announcing their arrival, and he’s pulled out of the small space and down the drab hallway.

Despite what he’d imagined, their temporary abode is not much cleaner than his and Jesse’s. Josh kicks some coats and shoes out of the way as they go in, and sweeps a pile of magazines off the kitchen table so that he can set out glasses and things. Andrew shrugs out of his coat and then raises his eyebrows at Armie, as if to say, _where should I put this?_.

“Just throw it anywhere, dude.”

“I think after all that mockery of England, I should give you shit for being such a stereotypical southern California boy,” Andrew says. He drops his coat after Armie’s on a footstool. Josh presses a drink of some sort into his hand. “This better not be an entire glass of tequila.”

“We’re out of tequila,” Josh replies, making a sad face. “And limes. And salt, too, I think. Which is fucking terrible, because - it’s salt.”

“My mom would be so disappointed in us,” Armie intones.

Andrew wonders how any of them manage to live as actual grown-ups in their real lives. Then Armie and Josh are both staring at him, and he realizes he’d said that out loud. “Um, including myself in that,” he adds.

“Ah, but we’re making a movie right now, and real life? Doesn’t apply.” Armie makes some sort of gesture with his glass. “Andrew, get over here. How am I supposed to be your replacement Jesse if you’re so far away we can’t cling to one another?”

“We’re not that terrible,” Andrew insists, but he goes anyway, because he’s still blurry with alcohol, and the apartment is a little chilly, and he knows Armie will be warm. Like California.

Josh makes a face. “Um, but you are.”

“Really?”

“One of the makeup girls asked me if you were dating,” Armie says, sort of like he’s sorry to have to say it. “But in an adorable way. Like she was excited about it.”

“Oh god,” Andrew groans, pressing the hand not clutching his drink against his face. It’s funny but it’s not, and Jesse would just be horrified if he knew.

Armie slings an arm over his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I told her she’d be invited to the wedding.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” Josh says. Andrew glares at him. Josh is grinning.

“I could make a very terrible remark about how your face is replaced with his face,” he says to Josh, pointing at him, and then at Armie, and then at Josh again, “but that would be very, very rude.”

Josh clutches at his chest like he’s dying. “I’m wounded, Andy, truly.”

“You’re a terrible actor.” But he doesn’t mean it, and they all know it. Josh is an excellent actor, and Andrew feels a little bit bad that there will be people who won’t even realize he’s playing such a large part and doing a great job. “God, can you believe we’ve only got three weeks left?”

“Nope,” Armie says. He squeezes Andrew’s shoulder. “Guys, I need to say - I don’t want to go back to the _Gossip Girl_ days.”

Andrew watches Josh’s eyes widen dramatically. “But, Arm. Blake’s legs. Blake’s _breasts_.”

“Sorry, buddy. If I want tits, I have Liz, and hers are great.”

Josh sighs as if Armie’s just ruined his entire hot girl philosophy or something. Andrew snorts and sips his drink. It’s strong. There’s a very real chance he’s going to end up passed out on their sofa. He says as much, and feels Armie shrug. “That’s cool. You can stay the whole weekend if you want. We have X-Box. I could totally kick your ass at Madden.”

“No.”

“Yes. Definitely yes. I kick Josh’s ass all the time.” He clinks his glass against Andrew’s like it’s cool.

Josh makes a failing attempt to kick them, without actually moving from the chair he’s slumped in. His foot doesn’t go very far despite his height, and Andrew and Armie both start to laugh hysterically as Josh whines, “I’m so drunk, so drunk. Oh god. I’m going to fall off the chair.”

And then he does, sliding down onto the floor and closing his eyes.

“Please don’t puke,” Armie says, and his arm drops down off Andrew’s shoulder to wrap around his waist, hand open and splayed over his hip, and Andrew can’t stop his shiver. Jesse’s hand just doesn’t cover that much area, and wow, he’s really fucking drunk too, if he’s thinking these things.

Armie whispers teasingly in his ear, “Thought you wanted to cuddle.”

“Um,” is all Andrew manages to get out.

“I think Predator is on TV tonight,” Josh slurs, still without opening his eyes. “TV? Yeah?”

Armie finds the remote... somewhere, and turns on the set. Andrew has some more of his drink, carefully, and very aware of Armie’s hand. Which doesn’t move, just stays curved over his hip as they watch the last forty-five minutes of the movie.

“I think Josh has totally passed out,” Armie whispers as the channel cuts from the credits to a toothpaste commercial.

Andrew squints down at Josh on the floor. “Are we sure he’s not dead? Finch would kill us, you know. And then we’d all be dead. I don’t want that on my tombstone, Armie.”

“I think I see his chest moving. What do you think, should we leave him there?”

The idea of leaving Josh passed out on the living room floor is suddenly hilarious to Andrew, and he starts to laugh, pressing his face against Armie’s shoulder so that he’s not crazy loud in the now-quiet room. After a second, Armie starts to laugh too, and Andrew feels his mouth against the top of his head, like he’s using Andrew’s hair to muffle the noise.

Finally, Andrew manages to stop and breathe, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

Then Josh snores once, loudly, and they crack up all over again. “That’s - not even - funny,” Armie gasps out, his whole body shaking with laughter, and Andrew realizes he’s sort of draped all over Armie. “Okay, yeah. Maybe we should deposit Josh in his bed.”

“I might be too drunk for that sort of coordination,” Andrew mumbles, but he peels himself away and manages to stand up.

“I know he’s a giant, but I think we can do it, between the two of us.” Armie stands up as well, shaking himself out, and suddenly seeming much less inebriated. “Help me, and I’ll make it up to you.”

“In what?” Andrew asks skeptically, narrowing his eyes. Josh snores again and flops onto his back. It doesn’t look comfortable in the least.

“Um. Hugs?”

“How are you an actor? You should be a - I don’t know, a pre-school teacher. A pre-school teacher who says ‘dude’ all the time.” For some reason, the thought is delightful to Andrew. Armie with an army of small children, all of whom he calls ‘dude’. Perfect.

Armie blinks at him in confusion. “Do you always say these sorts of things when you’re drunk?”

“Tequila is a special sorta drunk,” Andrew replies, making it a proclamation with hand gestures and all.

Together, and after some prodding to get Josh somewhat conscious, they manage to haul his giant tall ass into his bedroom, and dump him on the bed in a position that he hopefully won’t die in should he vomit in his sleep.

“There,” Armie says, brushing off his hands, and Andrew giggles. Then he stumbles into the wall. Armie grabs him, or maybe Andrew lets himself be grabbed. He’s not sure. Armie shuts the door to Josh’s room behind them.

They fall back down onto the sofa in the living room.

“I don’t remember the last time I got this drunk,” Andrew mumbles against Armie’s shoulder.

“Me neither. Why do we keep talking about how drunk we are?”

Andrew thinks about this for a moment. “I - don’t know.”

“You’re not actually sleeping with Jesse, are you?”

“ _What?_ ” He nearly shouts it, waving his hands. “No. No, no, no. Is this because I tell him I love him all the time? Why is that a thing? Why does that have to be a thing people think about? Why is it-”

“Dude, calm down,” Armie says quietly, cutting him off mid-tirade, grabbing his hands so that Andrew can’t flail any more. “Chill, okay? I really didn’t think you and Jesse were fucking, okay? Dude, I just - I just wanted to check. It’s pretty bromantical, you gotta admit.”

Andrew takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“It’s cool.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t freak.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Armie laughs, but it’s not unkind. He tugs Andrew toward him, and Andrew lets himself be pulled, and Armie’s hand slides up into his hair.

“This is pretty bromantical, with you touching my hair and shit,” Andrew mutters, and Armie laughs some more, lower this time, and then his mouth is right next to Andrew’s ear as he says,

“I think I would classify this as slightly more than bro-touching.”

Andrew finds he’s torn between making jokes and wanting an honest explanation for what’s happening. He swallows, struggling against the dizzy-drunk feeling. “Are you - is this because we’re wasted?”

“That depends on if you’re going to say it’s cool, or if we’re just gonna watch _Predator 2_. Up to you.” But then Armie bumps his nose against the underside of Andrew’s jaw, and Andrew tips his head back out of some instinct, and Armie’s mouth skims hot down his neck. It’s somehow a shock at the same time that he knows it shouldn’t be, and all of his focus narrows to this single room like there’s nothing at all outside of it.

He lets it all fall away, and “Fuck, yeah,” he breathes, “touch me.”

Armie yanks him up onto his lap, and Andrew shoves his hands into Armie’s hair (slightly softer as himself, less hairspray keeping it up) and kisses him. It’s wet and raw and Armie’s mouth tastes like the Jack and coke they’ve been drinking, and Andrew thinks there’s lime further back. Hands scrabble at the button of his jeans, fumbling with alcohol rather than nerves (has Armie been nervous for anything, ever, he wonders).

“You can get it up, right?” Armie whispers.

Andrew pulls his hair. “Shut up, asshole,” he mutters with a grin, and drops one hand to push Armie’s stupid polo shirt up enough that he can get at Armie’s worn leather belt. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Stop talking, Garfield.” He jerks Andrew closer, seemingly giving up on actually getting any body parts free of clothes, and Andrew groans as their dicks rub together through all the layers of material. “Just - yeah.”

“This is fucking classy,” Andrew pants, unsure if he wants to dig his fingers into Armie’s shoulders and just rut up against him, or if he wants to press his mouth against Armie’s neck and suck a whole lot of hickeys to the surface, just because he can.

“Makeup will kill us,” Armie whispers, like he knows what Andrew’s thinking. Andrew bites him instead, feels fingers dig hard into his hips as his knees dig into the couch cushions. If he turned up in makeup with visible, lingering, visible marks, they’d at least know he and Jesse weren’t fucking, but it would also turn Andrew into someone he doesn’t want to be. At least not outside of this room.

He ends up using his whole upper body to press Armie against the back of the sofa, and they go the undignified route and grind against each other, hands pulling at hair and mouths leaving marks in shapes that aren’t kisses, until Andrew groans and comes, panting harsh against Armie’s ear. Armie follows him a few seconds later, one hand gripping Andrew’s hip hard enough to bruise and the other curled around the back of his neck.

Andrew stays there without moving, until Armie’s fingers relax and his arms drop away. Then he flops to the side, still breathing heavily.

“You okay, dude?” Armie asks, kicking his foot against Andrew’s. One side of his collar is flipped up. The other side is stretched downward, where Andrew had shoved it out of the way in his hurry to lick the hollow of Armie’s throat. He might look slightly worried, or maybe that’s just Andrew projecting.

Andrew stretches his arms out in front of him, staring at his fingers. They no longer blur and double. That stage of drunkenness has passed. “That - I - yes. This was so not what I expected from tonight.”

“Me neither. But we’re cool?”

“Yeah.” Andrew closes his eyes. He rubs his shoulder blades against the cushion and grimaces. “I feel gross. And I think Josh might actually have squeezed a lime down the back of my shirt when we were at the bar.”

He feels Armie lean over and hears him sniff. “Mm, citrus-y. You can borrow some clothes.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“From Josh, I mean.”

Andrew chuckles, and feels Armie squeeze his knee with warm fingers. “What about you,” Andrew asks, “are you okay? Gonna puke?”

“No, I’m good.” There’s a pause. “Okay, once I change, I’ll be good. C’mon.”

It’s gross as Andrew gets up, but he follows Armie into the other bedroom and Armie tosses him a pair of too-large sweats. They change, and then Armie tells him he can use his toothbrush, and Andrew runs his tongue over his teeth and realizes that would probably be a good idea. He already knows he’s going to be hungover tomorrow, and he might as well not wake up with his mouth tasting quite so much like several things died in it overnight.

“So, um,” he says when he’s done and they’re in the living room again.

Armie shrugs, looking up at Andrew where he’s standing next to the sofa. “Movie? There’s still an hour.”

“I’ll probably fall asleep.”

“Dude, it’s cool. If I can get Josh into his room, I think I can get you to my bed.”

Andrew’s sobered up enough that he can raise an eyebrow without having to think about facial coordination too hard. Armie just grins at him, open and unconcerned. “Dude, I promised you snuggles. Let’s snuggle.”

Andrew shrugs and curls up next to him. “Don’t tell anyone, but you can be my replacement Eisenberg anytime,” he whispers dramatically-on-purpose.

“Cool.” Armie laughs and pretends to smack him on the side of the head. “And your legs are better than Blake’s, so.”

Andrew snorts against his shoulder, and tells him to shut the fuck up and watch the movie.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not actually the story I intended to write? Although I don't know exactly what I intended to write when I sat down with this. Mostly I'm like, "I can't believe I wrote fic about Armie."


End file.
